


Everything Comes Back To You

by uhmyeah



Category: Harry Styles (Musician)
Genre: Domestic, Emotions, Established Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 00:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11497680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhmyeah/pseuds/uhmyeah
Summary: Harry and Mitch go shopping at Target, and Harry realizes some stuff.





	Everything Comes Back To You

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! so, if you're from tumblr, i am the hitch target anon from harryshippudge! the idea of them shopping was already a thing that was briefly talked about, but i opened my big mouth and started talking about it and it escalated and here we are, 5.7k later.
> 
> it was edited completely by me, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> title is from 'This Town' by Niall Horan

To Harry, shopping was his _thing._ He’d spend hours upon hours in stores that most of the world can’t afford to step foot in; he’d try on flashy suits at a Gucci outlet, buy a pair or three of sparkled boots from Saint Laurent, sure. Though sometimes, despite his taste and desires, he couldn’t figure out what to buy. He’d stare at his reflection in a green button down with only the bottom four or five buttons buttoned, and he’d wonder if it _actually_ looked good on him. He’s spent ages in and out of dressing rooms, and sometimes he just gets overwhelmed.

Now, as he looks in the body mirror of his Gucci store, clad in his suede boots and black skinny jeans, he freaks out. Harry can’t decide if he likes how bold the Hawaiian-esque shirt was, or if it was too much. In his panic, like he often does from the Gucci dressing rooms, he calls his boyfriend for support. 

 

“Mitch, Mitch, I’m at Gucci and I don’t know if I should get this shirt or not. I texted you photos of me in it, but I don’t know if they went through or not. Help me? Please? I’m in the outlet on Third Street, ask Alexa to tell you which room I’m in. You ‘member her, right? Short, very pretty girl? Blonde hair?”

“Yeah, course I remember her. She’s an angel. However, I don’t think that a Gucci outlet would allow my pizza making self to step foot on the sidewalk outside their store, let alone in the actual building. Wait for me outside the store, ‘kay? I’ll pick you up, we can go to Target.” Mitch replies into the speaker.

Harry nods to himself, trying to calm down and stop pacing.

“’Kay, I’ll change now, love you. Text when you’re here, don’t wanna get mobbed, if I can help it. I’ll be inside, just pull to the curb and I’ll get in.” Harry mutters, attempting to unbutton the shirt with one hand.

“Okay, love you too. I’ll text when I’m there. Calm down, H.”

“’Kay, love you. Loads. Bye- bye.”

 

Harry waits until Mitch says goodbye one last time before hanging up and finishing getting undressed. He sits on the small chair in his room for a while, calming himself down. After about fifteen minutes, he gets the text from Mitch saying he’s outside.

Harry makes his way out of the dressing room and gives Alexa a quick hug, explaining to her that he’d come back soon.

He exits the outlet swiftly before climbing into the passenger side of the car. Once settled, Harry rests his elbows on his knees and drops his head to his hands, ruffling his short hair in frustration.

 

“Hey, ‘s fine. Don’t get yourself all worked up, H.” Mitch says as he turns into the road, glancing briefly at Harry.

“’M not trying to. Just annoyed. I can’t shop anymore, Mitch. What am I supposed to do?”

“Go to normal shops like the rest of us. It’s a lot less overwhelming. Plus, in Gucci and Saint Laurent no kids are allowed; in Target, there’s toy aisles. And clothes for the kids, too. I know how much you love them. You can’t pretend you don’t wanna see little kids running around a store.”

Harry lights up at the mention of children, and Mitch just rolls his eyes and reaches across the console to rub circles to Harry’s knee.

“I’m trusting you to take care of me here. If there’s not a little kid within the first ten minutes of being there, I’m walking out.” Harry replies, pouting only a little.

“Deal. I also love how you make it sound like you’re some kind of like, dude, who’s high up, never been to Target before.”

“’Course I’ve been to Target. Been to Walmart, too. I’m normal, suck my dick. I’m just a normal dude who also happens to like to shop at Gucci. And also, it’s pronounced Saint Lau _rent_ , not Laurent. It’s French, Mitchell.”

“What’s the guy’s first name? Something with a Y, right?”

“Yves. Why?” Harry asks as he fiddles with a loose thread on his jeans.

“Yves doesn’t sound French, that’s why.”

Harry lets out an audible, overdramatic sigh and turns to Mitch.

“ _He’s_ not French, the _company_ is. He’s from Algeria, I think.”

“Whatever, French or not, you’re going to Target.”

 

They drive for a bit longer before Mitch pulls into the shopping center and parks in front of the store. He gets out and walks to the other side, opening Harry’s door like a chauffeur of a limo would do.

 

“Welcome to Tar-jay, monsieur Styles.” Mitch says in an exaggerated French accent.

“Merci beaucoup, monsieur Rowland. On y va?” Harry replies, trying out French for the first time in a while.

Harry beams up at him, and Mitch looks at him fondly.

“C’mon, in we go. I’m tempted to put you in a cart and roll you around. Maybe another day.” Mitch jokes, but Harry takes it as a promise.

“Mitch, I don’t care that you were joking, push me around in a shopping cart and let me grab stuff from shelves.”

They start walking, grabbing a shopping cart and pushing it around.

“Next time, maybe. I dunno how much weight these things can take.”

Harry stares at the basket with the urge to climb into it, but he resists. Sighing and shuffling the slightest bit closer to Mitch, he begins talking again.

“Fine. I won’t even complain when the stuff gets too heavy. Wait, Mitch-“ Harry begins.

He looks down at his feet, blushing only a little. Mitch stops walking, quietly making sure Harry’s okay.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“I, uh. I know we don’t like… properly, y’know. Have…but can we?” Harry mumbles.

“Can we what?” Mitch asks confusedly.

“Look. At…at…”

“…At what? Harry, we’ve been to sex shops and you’re going all blushy on me in a Target?”

“At…” and, if even possible, his voice gets quieter, “at kid stuff. Like, clothes and stuff, the lot.”

Mitch is confused for all of one minute until the light goes off in his head.

“You wanna look at kid clothes and stuff?”

“Don’t have to if you don’t wanna, just-“ Harry gets interrupted by the tug of Mitch’s hand on his wrist in the direction of the children’s clothes.

“H, course we can. Just little clothes for little ones, right?”

Harry nods, shuffling into the large area. He smiles and gently touches a little tutu with bedazzled sparkles on the elastic waist before moving on to a rack of little denim rompers and striped shirts. The entire time, Mitch is behind him with a gentle, unmoving hand on his back.

Harry smiles without meaning to, stroking over a fluffy dress. Mitch smiles at Harry, wanting to whisper to him that ‘one day, maybe’, but not having the nerve to do so in case something happens that could stray them from forever.

Since it is the children’s section in a family store, kids are in the section with their parents, shopping for new things. A little girl points at Harry from afar, hiding into her mother’s neck. Mitch smiles and pulls Harry in, whispering.

“Think you’ve been spotted by your littlest fan yet.” And directs the attention to the girl.

Harry grins and walks over to her, waving his hand by scrunching and unscrunching his fingers. The mother lets her down, and Harry squats down to accommodate her size.

 

“Hey, love. Mitch here thinks you like me. Is that so?”

The girl nods timidly, still getting used to Harry being close.

“Well, isn’t that perfect? I happen to like you too, but don’t tell Mitch. How old are you?”

The little girl looks up at her mom, waiting for approval, and holding up an open hand showing five fingers.

“Five? I remember being five, I’d like to formally say that I’m sorry boys are so icky. I know, we’re gross. Some of us get better, but a lot of us don’t. Just stick in there, who knows what’s going to happen. You want a hug or anything, love?”

The little girl is giggling at Harry’s remark about boys, and then she nods, opening her arms. Harry duck walks to her, wrapping her up tightly in an embrace.

Once they let go, Harry tells her and her mom to have a lovely rest of the day, and that it was absolutely no hassle talking to her daughter.

As Harry and Mitch leave the children’s section, Harry smiles at Mitch.

“Y’know, you were great back there. So sweet to the little girl.”

“I mean, you know how much I love little ones. They’re still so…young. And innocent. So carefree and full of love for anyone who would have it. Plus, they’re teeny and waddle, they’re precious.”

“I know.” And Mitch takes a deep breath, steadying his racing heart. “You’d make a great dad one day.”

Harry freezes, wide eyed and unblinking at Mitch, before picking up walking and breathing again.

“…Yeah? Really think so?” Harry stutters out quietly.

“Mmhm. Really do.”

This moment pushed both of their hearts into dangerous levels of beats per minute. Harry glanced at Mitch’s profile, deciding to continue the bravery streak they have going on. He gently wraps his hand into Mitch’s rougher one, shakily breathing out before continuing.

“So would you. One day.” Harry says, barely above a whisper, but so full of raw emotion.

Mitch dares a quick glance at Harry, popping a side smile and turning his face forward once again. Sure, Mitch knows how much Harry wants kids and how much he loves them, but he knows that neither of them are at a point in their lives where raising a child would be a good idea.

Harry stops dead in his tracks with a grin as big as his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Mitch looks at him in question, trying to follow Harry’s eyes, but failing.

Harry takes over pushing the cart for a few feet, stopping again and turning to Mitch.

“Mitchell, this is my home. Mum couldn’t make it, but this is where I live. Welcome.” Harry says, opening his arms and turning, as if to let Mitch enter.

“Harry, this is the baking aisle.”

“Yes! Exactly. I worked in a bakery. You knew that. Piece it together, M.”

“What are you suggesting?” Mitch replies suspiciously.

“…Nothing. Unless, of course, you wouldn’t mind a pastel blue mixer in your kitchen, or the baby pink blender. It is your birthday pretty soon, anyways. What kind of birthday has no cake?”

“One that grown adults have?”

“Incorrect! The correct answer was ‘a bad one’, but good try. Also, what kind of adults are you hanging around? Just last year I had a cookie cake. Cake is for everyone, not just lil’ ones.” Harry replies as he lifts the boxes containing the mixer and blender into the cart.

“A cookie cake? For turning 22? Harry…” Mitch says with a laugh.

“I didn’t choose it! It was a surprise party thing at a place that a friend organized, Gemma picked the cake. Apparently, I had a cookie cake when I turned 2 because I had an obsession with Cookie Monster. I dunno. It tasted nice and it wasn’t disgustingly embarrassing like Gem usually makes them.”

Mitch smiles and fixes a stray hair from Harry’s forehead.

“Now that there’s explanation it’s actually pretty cute. Did you really have an obsession with Cookie Monster though?”

“Apparently. Though I remember being more of a fan towards Zoe and Snuffleupagus.”

“Yeah? Cute. The ballerina and giant fuckin’ elephant. Very you.”

“Hey! Snuffy isn’t an elephant, he’s a wooly mammoth, thank you very much.” Harry says, directing the cart back into a steady stroll.

They walk past all the hygiene and dog aisles, stopping only for a moment while Harry rambles about how he wants a corgi. Harry walks a little way up, into the grocery section.

“Love, we need anything? I know we’re out of avocados, but are we doing anything with them soon?” Harry asks, idly throwing and catching an orange.

“Uh, don’t think so. Unless you want something, we’re good.”

Harry smiles, walking back to Mitch, mumbling an ‘okay’ before walking again.

They find their way to the seasonal section, this time being for school supplies. Harry turns, wide eyed and beaming, to Mitch, pulling him into the section.

Harry wanders around for a little while, stopping at lunchboxes that have dogs on them before Mitch catches his wrist and reminds him that he, in fact, does not need a lunch box and matching water bottle. Harry squints his eyes at Mitch before turning around, walking away and putting the box back. He then walks into the bigger area, looking at all the pens and erasers.

“Mitch! C’mere! Need this!” Harry yells quietly.

Mitch arrives, stopping just beside Harry, sighing only a little.

“H, you don’t need glitter gel pens.”

“I write! I’m a writer, a _lyricist_. We write. Plus, if I get them, you can use the green one.”

“You write strictly in black pen with the dumb refill cartridges that cost $30. Now you’re converting to $3.50 glitter pens?”

“I only write with those pens because I’ve never had _access_ to a pink glitter pen. Now that I do, all my lyrics about you will be in glitter. Tell me that doesn’t sound amazing.”

Mitch sighs again, waiting a few moments.

“Put them in. I expect _albums_ about me to be written in glitter now, though.” Mitch replies, giving him a quick pat to his bottom.

Harry gets close to Mitch, as if going in for a backwards kiss, smiling and batting his lashes.

“Albums and albums and albums; so many you’ll be sick of me. Maybe of the glitter, too. Though I don’t see how the latter is possible.”

Harry drops them in the cart and walks off, leaving Mitch in the aisles of school supplies.

Soon enough, Mitch finds Harry in the bedding section, looking completely baffled and worried.

“You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m fine, yeah. Just; should we get the sheets with the higher thread count and birds, or the sheets with the lower thread count and stripes?” Harry asks, turning to Mitch.

“Either one. Do the colors match the walls, at least?”

“Course. Complementary. Who do you take me for?”

“I dunno, you have a wild taste, is all.”

“A wild taste that matches, thank you. Now help me. Which ones?”

Mitch asks which ones would be softer, which proved to be the wrong thing to ask. Harry proceeds to ramble for a good twenty minutes about how the thread count determines the softness, but the softness could go away in a few washes. About two minutes in, Mitch had to clear off a shelf to sit on near the floor.

“So, I guess the higher thread count would be better? Softness wise?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Birds it is.” Harry says, tossing the correct size into the cart before finding matching throw pillows. He finds one with a Boston Terrier on it and begs Mitch for it until he gives in.

Mitch has to physically drag Harry out of home décor, only to find himself being dragged into art supplies.

Harry finds scented markers and Mitch already knows, just by the hopeful look in his eyes.

“Please?”

“You’re not an artist, you don’t draw.”

“I could draw album covers! I could color you like one of my French girls!”

“With smelly markers. Real sensual, H.”

“’Course. Only for you.” Harry says with a wink before dropping them in the basket and running off again.

Mitch quickly catches up to Harry, this time in bathroom décor, stopping the cart and walking to Harry.

Harry stands in front of toothbrush holders, obviously determining which one to get. Mitch stays silent, pausing to look around the aisle before cautiously wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist when he finds it empty.

Harry freezes, but immediately calms again.

“’Kay, which one? Flowers or just the cool cup with dots?” Harry asks, voice noticeably quieter, like how it gets when Mitch holds him close. It’s the voice Harry holds for the intimate times; for late night talks on the balcony when they were in Jamaica, for when he’s upset about something but doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s the voice that Mitch was very surprised existed for Harry; the voice that’s so opposite to his normal, loud and confident tone.

Mitch squeezes Harry’s waist, giving his answer and pulling away when Harry started to move.

Harry walks in the direction of the shower curtains, waiting for Mitch to catch up this time.

“Ducks or stripes?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and pulls Harry behind one of them, kissing him quickly. Harry smiles dumbfoundedly, pressing a quick peck to Mitch’s lips.

“You’re ridiculous.” Mitch says, full of love and no harshness behind it.

“Maybe.”

It’s strangely intimate, occurring behind shower curtains in a Target, of all places. They’re pressed close, noses bumping.

Mitch presses a kiss to Harry’s lips one last time before pulling the curtain back and stepping away from behind it, Harry following.

“So. Ducks or stripes?”

“Are you trying to make the house look like a toddler designed it?”

“Not really, but ducks and a bathtub are synonymous.”

“Ducks, then. If anyone mentions anything, we can just say that the album inspired it.”

Harry laughs at that, nodding and grabbing the duck curtain and putting it in the basket.

“Sorry my buying my shirt has turned into a renovation shopping spree.”

“’S fine. I was kinda expecting it, honestly. Can’t take you anywhere, H. You’d be a nightmare in Ikea.”

“Heyyy. Ikea sounds fun. Let’s go one day.”

“Maybe at some point in the far and distant future when I can afford buying you every storage shelf in the store. Though at that point, you’ll have so much designer clothing that we’ll need it.”

“Incorrect, designers don’t fold, they hang. We’ll need a closet extension.” Harry corrects, walking towards the albums.

Mitch follows behind him, stopping for a brief moment to tell him he would be in books. Harry nods his head before striding to the album section.

Mitch is about three aisles away reading the back of a book for the summary when he hears a gasp come from Harry. Just after, he hears Harry’s boots clunking as he runs to find Mitch.

“Mitch! Mitch! C’mere, come with me!” Harry says excitedly, pulling Mitch almost painfully, running to the albums.

He reaches an aisle quickly, still pulling Mitch with him.

“Look! Look, it’s the record! That’s me!” Harry points, nearly jumping up and down.

Needless to say, Mitch is speechless. Obviously, he knew the record was selling in shops, but it was the first time he’d ever seen it.

“That’s you, alright. Pink bath and all. How’s it feel to be seen in a pink bubble bath in stores?” Mitch asks in mock accusation.

“Uh, pretty wild, honestly. Usually there’s four other guys beside me, now it’s just me in a bathtub.”

“Who all have you bathed with, Styles?” Mitch asks, despite knowing what he meant.

“Shut up, not what I meant. Should we get copies?” Harry wonders aloud.

“Don’t think we need any, we’ve got like, 70 at home.”

“Yeah, you’re right. C’mon, I wanna get food. Let’s go home?”

Mitch nods and leaves the aisle, Harry in tow. They walk towards the checkout station, paying for all their stuff and a box of orange tic tacs Harry threw in last minute. Harry thanks the cashier as they leave, quickly grabbing Mitch’s hand and holding it.

“Is this…okay?” Harry whispers.

“Yeah, ‘course.” Mitch replies, squeezing his hand reassuringly, despite the rapid fluttering of his heart and butterflies in his stomach. They don’t do PDA, what with Harry being as famous as he is. Neither of them are out, and paparazzi are everywhere; snapping unwanted photos that will be headlines in ten minutes. Sure, they both want nothing but to be able to hold hands in public, but for their safety, they don’t.

They rush through the parking lot, holding hands. Harry lets go of Mitch, only to return the cart. He climbs in the passenger side, shutting his door and getting buckled.

“So, where to?”

“Um, dunno. Want food, though. Drive-thru, if that’s okay.”

“That’s awesome.” Mitch says, pulling onto the road.

They drive a while before Mitch makes a left turn into the drive thru.

“This is a Taco Bell. I know it isn’t quite like the fancy Mexican you probably had in literal Mexico, but it’s what we have in LA.”

“I’m aware of Taco Bell, thanks. We didn’t really get gourmet in Mexico, we had catering and then bounced to the next show location. Shame, really. Wish I could spend more time there.”

“There’s a whole life and tour ahead of us, don’t get all melancholic on me in a drive thru. Anyways, see anything you want?”

Harry nods, telling Mitch what to order. Mitch tells the person what they want and pulls up to the window to wait for their food. Once they have it, Mitch pulls back onto the road and drives home.

They reach their house, shutting off the car and walking inside. Harry unlocks the door with a little struggle; his other hand having the bag of food.

They sit at the table and eat their food on paper plates, neither one wanting to deal with more than throwing stuff away as cleanup.

Hours later, that night, they’re settled on the couch watching a movie. About 20 minutes in, Harry stands up abruptly, taking fast strides to the bathroom. Once behind closed doors, he yells out to Mitch.

“Thanks for the warning, babe! Really nice of you!”

Mitch starts laughing from the couch, holding his stomach before yelling back.

“You could’ve gotten a salad! Didn’t have to get the heaviest thing on the menu!”

“I wanted the full experience!”

“Congrats, you’ve got it!” Mitch yells back, still laughing.

“Shut the fuck up! Also, don’t come down this hall for the rest of the night!”

Mitch laughs harder, yelling back an ‘okay, love you’.

“Fuck off, I hate you!” Harry yells back, no meaning behind his words.

It’s about two hours later when Harry crawls into bed beside Mitch, making a point to pout and yank the covers onto himself.

“Still hate you.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Do. Your fault my ass hurts.” Harry mumbles from under the covers.

“Not the first time it has, why complain now?”

Harry kicks Mitch’s leg hard before wrapping his own around it.

“’Cause before it was from your cock, not more shit than an elephant has. There are vast differences.”

“I get it. C’mere, little spoon. You deserve cuddles.”

“Damn right I do.” Harry says, snuggling into Mitch’s side, “I showered for like, 20 minutes before I came in here. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you. Means a lot.” Mitch replies, pulling him closer.

“I could’ve died, y’know. The headlines would’ve been great; ‘Musician Harry Styles found dead in his LA house; medics say from Taco Bell his bandmate, Mitch Rowland, gave him hours before.’. Just like that, you and Taco Bell could be in court because you killed me. Assisted murder. Amazing, I’m dating a criminal.”

“You’re not dead. I repeat, could’ve gotten a salad.”

“You still would’ve killed me. I’d be dead; in fact, I think I am.”

“For a dead person, you sure do a lot of complaining.”

“You do an awful lot of conversing with a corpse, you’re no better.”

Mitch sighs out a laugh and pulls Harry into a kiss. Harry moves closer, gently placing his hand on Mitch’s hip, the other in his hair. The kiss deepens a few moments later, but Harry pulls away before anything goes anywhere.

“I think making out with a corpse leads to prison, M.”

“Since when does sleeping lead to prison?” Mitch asks jokingly,

“Mitchell! How dare you say that kissing me leads to sleep? I’m a good kisser, thank you. You know how many people would kill to be you right now?”

“Slow down, ego.”

Harry glares at Mitch before moving to kiss at his neck, mumbling about him knowing what Harry actually meant.

“You suggesting that I shouldn’t relate making out with you to sleep? I’m fairly certain that that session was headed exactly there, H.”

“I’m suggesting that you should’ve related me saying that it lead to prison, to fucking.”

Mitch sighs, burying a hand in Harry’s hair.

“All I got from that was fucking, should I be relating that to something coming soon? Is this one of your strange ways to get in my pants?”

“I won’t turn you in for necrophilia.” Harry mumbles, still kissing and leaves quick nibbles to the skin of Mitch’s neck by his ear.

“I’m down, go on.”

Harry smiles against the skin of his neck before pulling away and furrowing his brow.

“Who’s uh. Fucking who?” Harry asks blatantly.

“Dunno. Either way.”

“My arse hurts too much, but I want something in me.” Harry pouts, flopping beside Mitch, “this is all your fault. We could be fucking right now, but you had to take me to Taco Bell.”

Mitch turns to Harry and pulls him close, kissing him gently.

“Let’s not do anything tonight, I’m pretty tired and your ass needs a break. Let’s just have a night in, yeah?”

Harry nods from his place against Mitch’s chest, curling in tighter and kissing the area.

“You okay, H?” Mitch asks, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“Mm. Just thinking.”

“’Bout what?”

“’Bout, like. Life, I guess. Today.”

“Everything okay? Apart from shitting your brains out?”

“’Part from that, yeah. Just. New? I guess?”

“New how?”

“New, like, for me. I know, it’s dumb, but like. I’ve never really…had…this. I’ve never really had someone who stays, I guess. I mean I have, but in like, early high school. But that doesn’t…count…to me, as much. We didn’t like, live together. I’ve never had this. The past seven years I’ve had stunts that made it look like I had this, but we never did anything other than have coffee at the designated time paps were scheduled to photo us. I’ve had one-night stands that I was with for a few days, no more. Then one-night stands where they wanted this, but I wasn’t ready, or wasn’t in a good head, so I said no. Then one-night stands where they were gone in the morning, or that left right after. I’ve had people who I’ve fallen for, deeply, and when I tell them, they leave. I’ve never had a relationship like this; never had someone pick me up and take me shopping at a Target for duck shower curtains and bird sheets.” Harry rambles, shaking and quieting his tone to a whisper, “I’ve never had you, Mitch. Never been…never…felt…like this. Sure, I’ve had feelings for past people before, but. You.”

Mitch is speechless, but he gets it. He’s just a guy who needed money so he went out and played a few riffs for some guy who needed a guitarist. He quit his job the moment he got the call saying he was the one, to come ASAP to record. He flew to _Jamaica_ for this guy; risked it all because from the moment they met, Harry radiated something amazing; something that Mitch hadn’t felt before. He spent nights on the beach with Harry, getting to know him, and Harry did the same. He let Harry climb into his bed the nights where Harry’s brain wouldn’t shut off, the nights when Harry was upset and worried and sad, the nights that it stormed because Harry would jump at the waves crashing and thunder booming above. He began to fall in love with Harry, he knew this, he just didn’t want to admit it. Mitch gets it.

Harry curls in closer to Mitch, sniffling against his collarbone and barking out a breathy chuckle.

“I guess it’s why I’m so hesitant, sometimes. Like, in public and stuff. I know about paparazzi, and I know it’s their job, but they’re such a pain in the ass. I hate that I’m hesitant, I don’t wanna be, I wanna be happy. Carefree. Wanna hold your hand and grocery shop. Fuck, I want that so bad. It’s dumb and it’s such a tiny, meaningless thing, but it holds such a big part, y’know?”

Mitch knows. He wants that too. He nods, scratching Harry’s back gently.

“Yeah, I know. I want that too. ‘Member in Jamaica when we went to that little like, fruit market thing?”

Harry nods.

“About ten seconds in and I wanted to hold your hand, wrap my arm around your waist, _something_. There were all those happy couples doing that, but we weren’t even a thing at that point. I mean, officially. Or, like, actually. At that point, I didn’t want to admit that I had fallen for you, I don’t think. Obviously, I was losing that battle.”

Harry cracks a small smile and shuffles impossibly closer.

“Yeah, same here. It, uh, came like a tidal wave. One night I came into your room and you were sitting on the windowsill, looking out the window, idly playing riffs or writing or something. I walked in and I was like ‘oh, that’s what that feels like’. It’s like all the breath ran out of me. This is so gross and cheesy. Anyways, I remember that it was like, 10 at night and the sun had just gone down, so it was still like, really dark blue but not night yet. The palm trees were blowing around and the breeze was blowing your hair around and it made me miss my long hair, but then it made me get hit with more of that ‘oh, shit’ feeling I got when I walked in. I just kinda stood in the middle of the room staring at you like a moron for a little while before I actually walked over to you. I felt dumb and like a middle schooler, ‘cause my heart was beating so hard I heard it and was kinda worried you could too.”

“I couldn’t.”

“That’s good. But I managed to sit next to you in a chair and started singing lyrics I wrote as I went. It wasn’t anything good; I think it was about the stuff we had for dinner or the fish or something.”

“You mean to tell me it wasn’t about pining over me?”

“I’m sure it was, but not on the surface. We went to bed together and you fell asleep pretty fast, but I stayed up for a while. At some point, I was writing lyrics on my phone and you turned over and wrapped an arm around me and I think I had a heart attack, but I’m still alive, so there’s that. But the lyrics were super like, pine-y and schmoopy and sad. I dunno, I never showed them to anyone; they’re too personal.”

“Even for me?”

“Definitely for you. Even now.”

“…Damn, how deep did you get?”

“Pretty. But that night I kinda was just like…” Harry whispers, going even quieter for the next bit, “I was just like ‘fuck…I think I’m in love with him’”

Harry’s hand shakes a bit more from where it’s resting on Mitch’s hip.

Mitch kisses his hair, then his hand.

“You knew back then?”

“Yeah.” Harry replies breathless and soundlessly.

“…Are you still?”

Harry hesitates, eyes tearing up. He takes Mitch’s hand in his own and takes a deep breath, looking up to meet eyes.

“…Yeah.” Harry nods, whisper cracking from the intensity of emotion.

Harry’s eyes shut, tears falling and nose running slightly as he begins crying fully. He curls into Mitch, expecting it to be the last time like it always is after love professions.

Mitch wraps him in tighter, petting his hair and letting him sob against his shirt for a little while. Of course, he isn’t angry with him, he feels the exact same way. He loves Harry, he’s _in love_ , with Harry.

“Hey, Haz, calm down. I’m not leaving.”

“…You’re not?” Harry asks pitifully.

“’Course I’m not leaving. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I did? Plus, it’d be pretty pointless since I feel the same way.” Mitch replies casually, despite his heart racing.

“…You…love…me? Like, proper?” Harry asks in genuine question.

“Completely and properly, don’t the duck curtains show it?”

Harry makes a weird sob-laugh while he sniffles, pressing his face more into Mitch’s shirt.

“Promise you’re not shitting me?”

“Promise I’m not shitting you. Even though I guess I made you shit earlier.”

Harry laughs again, wiping his snotty and teary face on Mitch’s shirt.

“Not funny.”

“Why the laughing then?”

“’Cause it’s you.”

“Me?”

“’Make me all giggly and dumb. C’mere.” Harry replies, leaning up for a kiss.

Mitch gives in, craning his neck downwards to Harry. After a short while, they part.

“You owe me a shirt.” Mitch mumbles against Harry’s lips.

“Come to Gucci with me. We can buy matching Hawaiian dad shirts.”

Mitch kisses him again, speaking softly.

“Or we could go to Target and get the same ones for about $600 cheaper.”

“I like your plan better. We can get the pug cookie jar that time around.” Harry says, smiling against Mitch’s lips.

Mitch whacks Harry with a pillow then, and Harry squawks, jumping a little. He grabs a pillow of his own, whacking Mitch back. They continue for a while before Harry ducks a hit and crashes into Mitch, making them fall down onto the bed again. He smiles at him from above and gently presses their lips together again.

“’M sleepy now.” Harry mumbles, crawling off Mitch and cuddling into his side.

“Sleep, then. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Mitch replies.

“Night, love you.”

“Love you too.” Mitch replies; this time the words holding more meaning.

And if hours later when Harry wakes up to an empty bed in a mild panic before reading the note Mitch left him and laughing for a good ten minutes before he walked to grab the bag of toilet paper rolls from the shelf, putting them outside the bathroom door and telling Mitch that he’s officially the best boyfriend ever, well, that can stay between them.


End file.
